The Withering on the Walls

from Omens by Ahzidal

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lyrics

Rid this land of oppressive invaders
Forged within the heart of our native soil
To banish forth their weakness
To rid them of skin and strength...
Corralled in pins
A will for restitution,
Buried beneath mounds of rubble and refuse.
Rash and pustule, pulsating and growing.
The withering on the walls reaps what it sows...
The souls of the forlorn folk
Unable to rest, purged in flame;
on the shoulders of gods rests the blame.
Beholden to their doom,
Wallow in sheets of sickness
Bereft of all hope
Fever scars your weary mind

Rasping in despair
as your life drains
There is no hope for the meek.
Thrice sets your last sun
Thrice you wither among the walls
No more than a hallow shell of filth...
The Blessed sick wander the cobbled streets.
Desiccated corpses litter their towns in squalidness.
Dread not the living hell,
for it is so much brighter than the darkness that awaits...
you...